Mass Effect: Parallel Spectrum
by LGTX
Summary: A story of a turian Spectre uncovering the truth behind Shepard's disappearance, and ultimately deciding to aid the human from the shadows. Original character, first FF. Rated M for language and graphical violence. Reviews are welcome!
1. Frozen Cemetery

**The universe of Mass Effect and all canon characters belong to Bioware.**

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Alchera was _cold_.

And turians weren't generally on good terms with low temperatures – Galrun kept reminding this to himself as he sat perched in his sniper nest high in the mountains, overlooking a large clearing where his target would soon pop up. Momentarily darting his eyes at the leftmost lower corner of his heads-up display, he noted that his external sensors were picking up temperatures which weren't exactly fatal or even extreme – but he'd rather have his fringe bent upward than be exposed to the −20 °C of freezing air reigning outside his sealed thermal suit. _I'm _definitely_ getting military-grade heavy armor after this._

As an elite agent of The Special Tactics and Reconnaissance branch of the Citadel, Galrun was bound to have access to all the resources needed to ensure his assignments went as planned, including personal funds for purchasing armament and other standard-issue items for any top-of-the-line Spectre – except this wasn't a Council assignment at all. Translation straight from the rulebook: _"As of embarking upon independent operations unbeknown __to high command, Spectres are authorized to use all means necessary in order to complete their objectives, albeit with limited support from the Citadel Council."_

Galrun snorted as he mentally recited the line, his right eye never leaving the scope of his M-29 sniper rifle. "Limited support" was a nice way of telling you to mind your own ass in case you decided to go hero, including coming up with original ways to supply yourself. He couldn't help but wonder if the Council was actually losing trust in the "instruments of their will", as they called them – after all, he decided to dust off this assassination job only because his bosses had been surprisingly short on demands for the last couple of weeks. Then again, any doubt regarding the Spectres could easily be justified – after what Saren Arterius caused along with his Geth army, even the best of the best became a matter of suspicious glances and silent accusations.

_Ironic where chain of thought can lead you. _He glanced down at the remains of the only real reason why the rogue Spectre hadn't succeeded in reducing the entire galactic government to dust – the corpse of a ship which relentlessly hunted the turian and his Geth allies across the galaxy, never resting as they took the battle to the Citadel itself. The human commander of the vessel - the _first_ human to actually join the ranks of Spectres - had issued warning after warning regarding Saren's plans to attack, to which his precious Council had turned the deafer of their ears. And now, after fighting and winning against impossible odds in a world which he had every right to hate, Commander Shepard was dead.

Galrun shifted uncomfortably as he once again found himself sympathizing to the human Spectre who had saved the hide of Citadel Space single-handedly. He shuddered as a gust of wind swept through, chilling his bones and allowing his aim to fall for a few centimeters. Unacceptable. He forcibly interrupted his own trail of thought and focused, correcting his aim at the airlock of an uncharacteristic shuttle parked amongst the remains of the Normandy – a shuttle where his old "friend" was most likely finishing calibrating takeoff vectors beforehand. Anticipating the upcoming conversation with the human he hated more than anything else in the world, Galrun couldn't help but rehearse a bit and ask the first question to himself, the question which ensured his sniping would not be fatal for the target, just this once: _what the hell is he doing here?_

Contrary to the human Commander he had just been thinking about, his current occupant of thoughts – the person who would soon drop limp from tranquilizing rounds – was a personal grudge Garlun had been itching to settle since the Battle of the Citadel almost a year ago. He had-

He jumped as his omnitool beeped, jerking him back to attention. He flinched at his reaction a second later – turians were raised to keep their emotions in check, and Spectres were honed to keep them _non-existent_. Hardening mentally, he quickly ran possible scenarios without leaving his eye off the shuttle hatch; only a few people knew his Extranet address, and, excluding the Council and a couple of other operatives from his branch, there remained a painfully few contacts who'd be willing to send a happy postcard to a turian Spectre in the Terminus Systems.

Galrun snarled. It was next to impossible for the slimy bastard to have picked up his signal, and pinging his omnitool – for what, secondary distraction? - seemed stupid, even for him. Besides, the shuttle seemed to pack quite the punch – if he did notice him, he'd have either done the coward's act or would've fired at him. He quickly realized the stupidity of his own actions - _preconceptions_ - as a quick peek on his left wrist relieved him of any sense of danger, and returned his attention to the task at hand.

_Growing paranoid, you filthy pyjack? It's only your little brother asking if you're all right. _Galrun sighed, noting his apparent mental state and tried to focus, tried not to fall into the whole bunch of family dilemmas he'd created in his life. As he was failing and his mind was trailing off to his hot-headed sibling, the shuttle hatch started to swing upward, ever so slowly, but never slow enough for Galrun.

His whole body snapped into attention as adrenaline flooded his system. This was it. This had to be perfect. Surgical.

A single form stepped down from the shuttle, snow crunching under the weight of his heavy armor – unknown make. As the man looked around the dead wreckage, the turian examined his armor with surprising curiosity – the sealed fiber coating and armor plates were molded into an unfamiliar design, which looked as advanced as combat gear could get. He made a mental note to look this up with the requisitions officer back at the Citadel - he hated being caught off-guard, and a combat gear he wasn't sure how to pierce would seriously foil his plans. Knowing its wearer was a coward of rare make, he only had one chance to either subdue the bastard or watch him escape.

The form started moving around, and the man in Galrun's sights activated his omnitool, sweeping the area around him. _Good. Let me take a nice 360 look at all the weak points you got. _The gear showed signs of extremely well-concealed third-party mods, including a redundant shield generator smuggling the likes of which could get you jailed for years. Kinetic barriers were out of the question, they would only provide icing on the "cake" - three layers of pretty sturdy ablative plating. The man had a personal firearm and if his omnitool could scan for specific items - whatever they were - on a tolerable radius, it might as well could pack some nasty tech offense. It was obviously a "covert" insertion, and the guy was looking for something in a year-dead wreckage where salvage teams and scavengers have bored themselves three times over. _What was he looking for? Why prepare like this?_

In the end, those questions were irrelevant - at least for the time being. Adaptation, it was the first and last tenant of every Spectre in a similar situation. Galrun focused on the immediate specifics. The armor looked tough, but it wasn't invincible – it never is. As Galrun looked for a formidable non-lethal round spot between the coatings on the man's limbs, the latter started off towards the crash site of the cockpit – and would soon get shielded by an enormous thruster conduit jutting out from the ground.

Galrun swore. _Luck never was my best friend, or even a distant ally._ This position was the best he could come up with in the time he had, allowing for the crash site to pan out in its entirety beneath him - except for the damn cockpit. The only weakness, the only blind spot he counted as necessary sacrifice was about to be exploited. His curses shifted towards turian engineering – oversized thrusters were obviously there for the "turian trademark", never serving actual purpose to the advanced stealth vessel, and now about to get in the way of his task._ Like hell._ He managed to keep his temper at bay as he quickly adjusted the targeting parameters, applying subtle modifications for the ammo system to register the muscle paralysis doses needed for every bullet slice. _4 seconds._

He leveled the gun once more upon his target, quickly scanning his body for the tenth time and halting at an opening right above his hips – a thin layer of fiber was being revealed every time he took a left step. Galrun grinned. Timing was the key here – and he always nailed timing. After giving his gun some final tweaks to avoid lethal damage to the man who so much deserved it, he beamed inwardly. _7 seconds._

_"After you're done with all that analysis and similar confusing stuff, it's just a matter of triggers and fingers"._

The humorous tone of his instructor echoed through his head just as his gloved claw softly applied pressure to the trigger, releasing rounds with pinpoint accuracy. He _knew_ the M-29's rapid-fire feature would save him someday, and he reveled at the truthfulness of his assessment as the first round overloaded the kinetic barriers of his target, the second punctured the hip cleanly, releasing the toxin through his system in an instant, while the third bounced off harmlessly as the small opening in the armor was closed off in a split second. An irrelevant miscalculation, since by the time his ejected thermal clip hit the ground beside him, dust had already settled around Galrun's target as he lay motionless, but fully aware in the cold embraces of Alchera's soft snow.

The assassination was far from being complete, but the assassin was already celebrating victory. As Galrun's whole form was unmoving, assessing the fallen target for any signs of defective reactions to his rounds, the usually stoic and ice-cold Spectre was smiling mischievously without even fully understanding why – most probably enjoying the warm feeling of a tedious job being finally close to an end. He gazed for another two minutes and, satisfyingly clicking his mandibles, started rounding up the sniper assembly and getting ready for a long way down. The target would be out for two hours – and, judging from his high-end hardsuit, freezing-to-death wouldn't be a problem – which gave him more than enough time to take a careful trip down the mountains and to the wreckage, where he'd administer countermeasures to speed up the human's recovery. Or, maybe he wouldn't – he suddenly realized that the message on his omnitool was still flashing for attention, it's status boldly flagged as "urgent".

_Always the smartass, aren't you little brother?_ Galrun smiled to himself as he glanced at the Normandy's graveyard and its serene, but practically depressing tranquility. It wasn't the comfiest places to decide getting in touch with his family again, but everything had to be done sometime. Besides, he'd just completed the only job he'd postponed more than once - his spirits were high enough to tolerate his younger brother, who always managed to tease him beyond insanity. _And to think I just picked off a backstabbing terrorist without as much as a twitch in my mandibles. _

His smile was short-lived as he raised his left arm and took in the remaining details on the message he'd received.

_*ENCRYPTED TRANSMISSION* _

_From: V., Garrus _

_Title: I decided Omega_

As the worried turian became engulfed in his brother's parting letter, a ship of insect-like design began circling the crash site, looking for a place to land. Galrun Vakarian never noticed as it completed its objective, landing behind an enormous thruster conduit jutting out from the ground.

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**Author's note:**

**Heyall. This is my first-ever fanfic - it expands upon an idea I've been harboring for a while. After playing through both Mass Effects (and becoming a devoted fan of Bioware), the only holes I felt in the plot were all these convenient situations Shepard runs through, so I decided to have this undercover agent aiding Shepard, against the orders of the Council, setting up soil for some of his actions in ME2. I plan it to be as canon as possible, but I'm not sure where the overall plot will go, or how Galrun's adventures will end. I know it's pretty vague, but you'll understand what I'm going for as the story progresses.**

**About Garrus. Well, I never caught confirmations that he DIDN'T have brothers, so I decided to throw in an additional link to Shepard's team, and an additional problem for the main character to untangle. I will most definitely introduce a bunch of secondary characters from both games, and may even cross paths with the recruitable squaddies. It's all a work in progress, I want to thoroughly think this through before I steer major plost turns, but I've got the introduction planned out already.**

**Next chapter is finished, now undergoing heavy corrections. It will introduce a bunch of NPCs Shepard will later interact with (and yes, that includes Galrun's "target").**

**Anyway. Thanks for reading this through, I'd appreciate any quick reviews. As a true fanfic, this is my very first, but I've been writing for quite a while as I review games, extensively. **


	2. Farewells and New Arrivals

**Abyssal Ferret - Thanks for the review, glad I got turians right. They're definitely the more disciplined, emotions-in-check type of the bunch. I tried to draw a character struggling with those standards.**

**euromellows - I considered a female Shepard/Garrus pairing, but ultimately this story seemed to need a mentor-type Shepard to Garrus, rather than someone with additional emotional luggage for the poor guy. Thanks for the review!**

**The universe of Mass Effect and all canon characters belong to Bioware.****

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**

_Brother;_

_I know there's no point lying to you, you've always been good at digging up my whereabouts._

_I killed a civilian today. Accidentally of course, but I deemed it as a necessary risk - she was a hostage, and she was in the way. The suspect escaped, and the damn bureaucrats are now pending charges against me, instead of letting me nail the bastard. I'm on suspension, no one knows for how long. Truth told, I don't give a damn, either._

_I don't like running away. But what's going on here, at C-Sec, I __loathe__. Remember that talk we had when you sheltered me after Shepard died? I said I was lost, that Shepard showed me ways of justice I thought were ineffective, and I no longer knew what to do. You joked that if I was so keen on righting wrongs, I could just go to Omega and start shooting the crowd. I chuckled and told you I'd think about it. I didn't joke._

_Shepard is dead. His methods got him killed, and they don't matter to me anymore. I won't end up like him. I'll get the job done, no matter what. Omega will be much more emptier, more... cleaner once I'm done. Maybe I'll drop in to my manager at C-Sec and file him a report afterwards. He'll be impressed._

_Whatever happens, my decision is made, and you of all people know how stubborn I can be. Just don't follow me, because I know you'll consider. Thanks for all your support, and I'm sorry for never properly appreciating it. Feel free to be disappointed with me, I definitely am._

_Keep doing what you think is right. _

_Garrus_

_P.S. Say hello to father for me._

Galrun stared at the last words for what seemed like an eternity; he had re-read the letter at least fifteen times before that. His mind was blank, unable to hook a starting point from which to build up the anger which he would inevitably need to suppress. He expected this, but never so abruptly. Not in the middle of a damn mission. Nothing should affect his nerves, _especially_ now. But the spirits be damned, Garrus was the only person in this pitiful excuse for a galaxy _he actually cared about._

He considered replying, bombing him with everything he felt, but his message was clear:_ I'm fed up. _He noted how he never explained the details behind his accidental murder and shift in character. He was always like that, straight to the point, never wandering around irrelevant details. The perfect turian. Until now.

Galrun inhaled sharply as he ran his eyes over the last words once again. Garrus was always father's favorite. As much as he liked to complain about him, he never really stood up to his demands and did what was expected of him - denying the Spectres, joining C-Sec, building a career many would kill for... Galrun was different. He was clear with his own views on life. He needed to root out injustice his way, and if their rulebook parents disagreed, he could care less. Without thinking, he ran his hand over his visor, as if to feel his pale gray skin hidden beneath. The procedures which he went through to remove his family markings have been painful, but he needed to make a point. That he was leaving them. Forever.

Garrus only needed those last words to express everything he meant and felt as he left for Omega. He was mocking him, them, discreetly distancing himself from everyone at once. His family wasn't keen on welcoming him back after his service under Shepard, and Galrun remembered his outburst as he yelled at them, telling them he'd never think of returning had Shepard survived. They were together that day, both seeing their father after a long time. They left together, as well. It was painful to see another Vakarian losing his faith, and Galrun was quick to offer refuge to his lost brother. He declined. He still helped him whenever he could, but couldn't help but feel as he was losing him more and more.

His memories traveled further back. Injustice always had a weird effect on the Vakarian clan, father used to joke it was genetic. But Garrus, Garrus made it seem like a curse: every petty criminal he failed to punish, every missed opportunity at jailing illegal smugglers seemed to impact him at a point that left lifetime mental scars on his ways of thinking. Doctor Saleon was worst of all: he told Galrun he yelled at Pallin after the sadistic surgeon got away. He had chuckled back then, but now he realized the starting point when Garrus started to snap.

Galrun's eyes wandered off towards the wreck that held so much significance to his brother a while ago. Another reason why he thought Shepard was a blessing - he actually seemed to understand and help Garrus sort himself out. Every consecutive letter he sent while serving under the human Spectre showed his doubts and transformations, his changes for the better. _And to think they actually nailed Saleon, no wonder Garrus grew to respect the human._

_And then he died..._

Sometimes Galrun wondered if his irritation regarding the death of Shepard was actually based on his own personal feelings. He cared for Garrus, but could never show it like a proper brother. He wasn't a good turian. He had even confessed to Garrus once, who, true to his nature, turned the topic into a joke and assured him he was fine.

The Spectre shook off his emotional burdens, actually clamping his mandibles and shuddering, before quickly grabbing the Incisor to check on the useless lump of organic life he'd just incapacitated. Garrus was old enough to look after himself. As damaged as he was, he had gained experience from the best of sources.

Galrun decided against a reply as he powered down his omnitool and brought the scope to his eye. Omega was one FTL jump away, he would sort this out with him eye-to-eye, and then-

_What the hell. _

He didn't need to double-check when he noticed a second figure standing over his target's motionless body, his instincts kicking in automatically as he sprinted back to his spot and dropped to the ground in mere seconds. His head ran possible causes of intervention even before his scope leveled with his right eye: Galrun and his target were supposed to be the only ones on this frozen chunk of rock. His contacts and sensors have confirmed as much. His turian fighter concealed at the base of the mountain would automatically notify his omnitool if life sings flared up in the immediate vicinity, and he was absolutely sure that the new guy wasn't from the shuttle he'd been eyeballing for the last half an hour.

There were lots of reasons to the given situation if he hadn't been told that the human would come here alone. In fact, it made perfect sense: if the bastard got into serious criminal activity, he was probably using desolate areas as these to run exchanges or even betray his group to some other. Galrun could see him doing just that - and it definitely explained the armored-up attire and all the looking around. He cursed himself for not seeing the obvious, once again. His "contacts" would answer dearly if he'd been set up.

As his crosshairs found his downed target, he was relieved to find the invader right where he was ten seconds ago. He zoomed out a bit and took in the individual.

And then his ingenious trail of logic shattered and confusion multiplied beyond all recognition.

The synthetic muscles that made up its legs and arms were perfectly still as the armored bulk stared at the immobile human, its arched neck ending with a single round lens which twitched and rotated almost nervously. The segmented flaps on its "head" would occasionally jump up and down, just until its waist turned to the left and caught something more interesting than an organic lying at its mercy mere meters away. It started walking, away towards a dead end, most probably having noticed an object lying on the ground.

Galrun was unmoved, calculating, and cold. His combat training kicked in as he discarded the million questions flooding his mind. There was only him, his rifle, and a representative of a race of AIs who just so happened to have almost destroyed the center of galactic society eleven months ago. Galrun's movements were lightning-fast and precise as he canceled the drug enhancement on his projectiles and ejected the entire ammo block, slapping a fresh one at its place, the words "Armor-Piercing SSx1" visible just before it disappeared in the Incisor. Two fingers navigated the weapon's built-in holopad as Disruptor technology started charging up. He needed to wait approximately 5 seconds for his bullets to shred the synthetic to bits. He knew this all too well. He performed the same calibrations the day all Spectres were called in for the Battle of the Citadel.

_What the bloody hell is a Geth doing in the De-facto capital nebula of the Terminus Systems?_

He scoped the mechanical form as it crouched over something on the ground, its back turned to him. Galrun exhaled sharply. As much as he wanted to nail the bastard right then and there, something told him that he should at least get a hang of its motives. The thing left his target alive, which was already bordering on miracle, and it was obviously busy as tinkering with plates over its chest. The turian waited patiently for the lamphead to turn around, show its secrets, and receive a pinpoint bullet straight to the bulb.

As the Geth stood up on one knee, its head managed to rotate enough to level itself with Galrun's scope. Something inside the turian turned with nervousness as the single lens burned holes into him, the lifeless "eye" looking as if it had suddenly noticed the sniper perched silently above the wreckage. As its hand went for its own rifle clasped to its back, Galrun knew he was blown.

Time slowed down as he marveled at the Geth's speed, which already had its rifle in one hand, body turned halfway towards him, preparing to fire single-handedly. Galrun grunted, steadied the reticule over the machine's head and violently pulled the trigger. As the Geth suddenly rose, firing, and the rounds caught it in the right half of its midsection, Galrun noticed a freshly-melded armor component right above the thing's shoulder, the red-and-white emblem of the human N7 Alliance training program contrasting sharply against the gray colors.

Two rounds impacted fiercely and tore the machine's "stomach" apart, sending sparks crackling around the synthetic before it crumpled to the ground, sniper rifle still in hand. The Spectre gritted his fangs in determination as he tried to check the foe for signs of activity, cursing his fate as the Geth appeared to have fallen at an angle which forbid a clear shot at the head. But Galrun definitely noticed the lights in its eye flicker before it fell, it was most probably "dead" by now. He gave the form one last peek as he recalled the odd trophy the machine had claimed for its own. It was another thing which happened to be concealed from his sight, irritating him more than it theoretically should have.

His previous confidence after picking off his intended target was gone; the latter might have anticipated the lone Geth, the _real_ reason for his gear. Something extremely fishy was beginning to form before him, as he once again tried to fend off the questions crushing his thinking. _Geth_. Spread thin after their leader and flagship were destroyed, the AIs were little more than panicking right now, as their last pockets of resistance were being systematically wiped out by every Council race with a decent fleet. They always tried to form counterattacks by regrouping, and rarely succeeded; their forces were practically eradicated. Sending _one_ platform to investigate the wreckage of the Normandy, coinciding with his current objective flying in here, fully armored, almost _anticipating_ the Geth...

Galrun secured his rifle on the magnetic clasp behind his left shoulder as he started jogging downward towards the crash site, his worries about Garrus completely evaporating in light of recent events. This _definitely_ wasn't a simple desolate area intended for private meetings. Both the Geth and his target were looking for something specific, something linked to Commander Shepard and his crew.

He stopped halfway down the mountain, drew his rifle, and hoped he'd catch the limp body he later needed to interrogate regarding much more than he initially planned. Satisfied at the oblivious human laying sprawled on his back, he took off the modified scope from the Incisor, transforming it back into a front-line offensive weapon. clutching the handle and taking a deep breath, he continued towards the growing pile of mess he'd need to sort.

As the turian reached the base of the mountain and started off towards the wreck, an automated Cerberus distress signal began pinging from the armored human as his vitals fell close to critical.

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**Author's note: **

**Here's the second chapter, it was actually intended to go on a bit further as Galrun inspects the bodies, but I decided to leave that off for chapter three, where events really start to kick off.**

**And to all those who obviously figured out the Geth's identity, he never actually said where and when he got shot, did he? **

**And sorry for not revealing the target just yet. That's gonna have to wait until Chapter 3. **

**Next chapters won't probably come just as quickly, but I'll try to be systematic. I have much more ideas I want to expand upon. **


	3. Hades' Hound

**Kudara - yes, I checked up on it myself and that appears to be correct. I'll shamelessly try to fix that miscalculation in this chapter :)**

**The universe of Mass Effect and all canon characters belong to Bioware.**

* * *

Galrun Vakarian stood in the middle of the wreckage, rubbing his temples. Not that it did any good through the helmet.

He had intended this to be a simple subdue-and-assassinate mission. Everything was planned months ago – his contacts on Omega have been specific on exactly when, exactly where and even _how_ his target would arrive, well, minus the equipment and motives. Galrun would cook up a cute little ambush, knock out the man from a distance, then administer temporary countermeasures to get him talking regarding _certain_ matters. Then he would kill him.

Only some Spectres arrested people. He didn't.

But the situation at hand was far more complicated and would likely turn out much more far-reaching if he'd continue with his earlier plans.

His target, the cowering little liar who had betrayed his government at the expense of dozens of innocent lives, was now _somehow_ working for nobody else than Cerberus, the pro-human terrorist militia who liked to screw with anything and anyone that didn't share their DNA structure. The military-grade Assault Armor his target was wearing along with modest golden markings all over his shuttle were indications enough; the distress signal he intercepted but failed to stall confirmed his suspicions.

Galrun shook his head at the last thought. _I don't have much time._ The man had been dragged into his own shuttle and relieved of most of his armor, slowly recovering from the paralysis caused by his tranquilizer. The dropship was sealed and all systems save for climate-control were blocked, an unnecessary effort since it'd be hours before the human inside would articulate properly enough to attempt an escape. He was the least of Galrun's problems anyway.

As he raised his head and took in the view before him, his mind began racing once again trying to derive just what the hell was going on at this deserted frozen rock. The small vessel before him was unlike any other ships he'd ever seen – it didn't even match any recorded Geth ship signatures. The smooth, rounded surface which reminded him of those insects from Earth – _beetles_ - was relieved of any viewports and hatches, making it difficult for the Spectre to gain any kind of access inside the vessel. He abandoned the effort after his omnitool nearly overloaded from an extremely aggressive hacking countermeasure present in the Geth ship's computers; he was never good at that kind of thing.

Its pilot was at his disposal anyway. He'd drop a message to the Council regarding the discovery later, right now, all he needed to find out were a big bunch of _whys_ and an additional couple of _hows_.

The corpse of the synthetic lay before him, the arms and legs folded neatly after being dragged for twenty meters into the snow. The gunshot to the lower chest looked severe, and the circuits jutting out from the inside were already too frozen to attempt any kind of self-restore sequence – the lamphead was dead. And that's what unsettled him more than anything.

He knew the architecture and nuances of Geth networking, everything he failed to learn from general databases he got out from unwary quarians who seemed to be technical geniuses and Geth encyclopedias regardless of their age or gender. A single platform had no more intelligence than a clanless krogan – acting solely on immediate threats and applying minimal tactical maneuvers to their simple push-and-shoot combat technique. He couldn't exactly classify this one's behaviour as drastically different, but it behaved... intelligently. Instinctive assertions always irritated Galrun. No logical basis, no cause, almost always plausible.

And it wasn't only that. The AI had obviously picked up the life signs of an incapacitated human when it saw his target, yet it attempted nothing you'd expect from a typical Geth. Some thought that after Sovereign, Saren's dropship, was destroyed the Geth lost their motives and goals – but the Alliance cleanup teams knew better, as they still continued to discover extremely aggressive pockets of Geth resistance throghout the borders of Council Space. This Geth had chosen not to kill, and that wasn't even the most disturbing part.

The N7 armor was mostly intact due to its position on the machine's upper right chest – the Alliance logo looking laughably out-of-place under the distinctive features of a common Geth combat platform. The component was obviously acquired the moment the thing leaned down to pick something up – and he couldn't help but think of battle trophies as he contemplated the machine's treatment of the item. Hell, it may even have been Shepard's as far as he was concerned. He knew that rogue AIs were bound to possess self-awareness and all the moral dilemmas that came with it, but emotional responses so... _discreet_ were beyond anything he had ever encountered before.

Then again, the thing could have just noticed a convenient mold that it could use to repair a wound. _Structural damage_, he corrected himself. Right now he knew there was nothing he could do beyond speculate, and even that wasn't exactly in his best interests. Whatever the hell the weirdo-lamp was doing, it couldn't have been for the general benefit for all organics. He sighed as he looked towards the shuttle containing his barely alive prisoner. _Do I really believe that? _

_Do I really doubt the motives of a goddamned Geth?_

Galrun knew better than anyone how large a weakness preconceptions were, and the skill to form his own opinions on as much things as possible was almost honed into his personality. But a Geth... a Geth was bound to have attacked him _or_ any organic. _And it did._ It managed one shot before he went down. _It managed one miss._ Geth don't miss, unless its deliberate.

_By the spirits..._

His head started aching all over again as he went through his assumptions for the thousandth time. It was all irrelevant now, and thinking too much would only cloud his judgement for the upcoming interrogation. He clicked his mandibles, the sound resounding sharply inside his helmet. Speaking of interrogations, he'd better get down to his upcoming one.

Just as Galrun turned towards the shuttle, a barely audible chime was heard from the Geth ship. A few minutes later, the pilot's lens flared up, and the machine silently rose when it registered the turian life sign inside the shuttle.

The back-up programs quickly gained consensus as the mathematically perfect plan the Geth had composed in a millisecond came to a triumphant end. The faked termination of the current platform was a matter of aligning the already present hole in the trajectory of the bullets, auto-shorting the long-redundant circuits it hadn't had time to remove. After transferring all 1183 runtimes to the ship's back-up data hub, the platform was relieved of any activity until the turian deemed it "dead".

And now, unbeknown to the Spectre, it would systematically bring all hardware components online and silently rise to its feet to power up the ship, _regretting_ the failure of its primary objective to locate the only individual who possessed sufficient-grade hardware to understand and aid the Geth and their future. The turian would not _understand_. The Geth were not yet ready for interactions with other species, and they avoided contact with as little casualties as they could.

After all, the 100.00% probability of unchecked hostile reaction from all organics has been proven right multiple times during the current platform's mission. This incident was just the one of many.

* * *

"Viewing window on."

The Illusive Man rotated his chair to face from the now-unobstructed view of a giant-class M star at its last phases of existence. He always ensured the striking effect to illuminate his form from behind during rare conversations with the leading operatives of various cells, never forgetting to remind his unshakable dominance over everyone and everything Cerberus.

The Quantum Entanglement Projector started humming silently as the words "Stand By" appeared in mid-air over the gray circle. The Illusive Man released a soft puff from his cigarette and smiled as he recounted the times he had been left waiting, trailing off before even starting. The one woman who could allow herself such bravery was also the only one worthy of a little forgiveness, for she seemed to grasp and embrace the goals of Cerberus no less fiercely than the leader himself.

Her current duties and objectives certainly gave her the excuse to be late for a few minutes. Miranda Lawson, however, would never be late for more than fifteen seconds.

As her genetically engineered form shimmered into full three-dimentional view before him, the Illusive Man dropped his cigarette in the ash tray, standing up at the same time. The ever-present smile playing on his lips, he faced away from the projection, clasping his hands behind his back as he waited for her to begin.

She never had problems composing herself.

"Apologies, I've been stalled by a couple of our techs while I was on my way. Apparantly, Wilson has run into a some kind of problem. I'm assuming you expect an update on Project Lazarus?"

Her voice never missed a beat as she confessed her dutiful guilt without as much as a tremble. The Illusive Man smiled at the star, admiring the confidence of his best agent. He would let this incident pass; she definitely did her part in doing so.

"I was simply interested in your overall progress. And I don't mean just figures and numbers, Miranda. I need to know if the project gives any signs of remote success. As devoted as I am to our goal, my resources are not unlimited."

Miranda's reply was immediate. Good; if she was eager to inform him, she would definitely bear reassuring news. But then again, nobody has ever been better at concealing their emotions than Operative Lawson. Nobody except for the Illusive Man himself.

"There is no need to worry this far into the project. While the brain has suffered severe cellular breakdown, even worse than we initially expected, Wilson has assured me that his every habit, every memory and personality trait is subject to complete restoration. Physical parameters are promising; muscle tissues are forming rapidly and every grown organ adapts decently enough to the body. The numerous enhancements you've suggested have been installed and infused, including bioluminescence perception which was considered impractical due to currently being adapted solely for drell physiology. I'd say there is _definitely_ nothing to worry about."

"And the time estimate until project completion?"

"Remains unchanged. Commander Shepard will be fully restored- or, rather, resurrected in approximately one year's time. There are numerous tests we should run after physical reconstruction is complete, and the kick-start procedure will most likely involve risks we'll need a little time to minimize. Project Lazarus proceeds as planned."

The Illusive Man turned around, a satisfied expression concealing a much brighter reaction as his steely blue eyes seemed to pierce right through the projection and lock an absolutely demoralizing gaze with Miranda. She didn't flinch.

"Good."

He casually strolled to his chair, breaking his stare only as he sat down and reached into his pocket for his box of cigarettes. Miranda waited patiently as he flicked his lighter and released a puff of smoke.

"I trust you implicitly with this assignment, Miranda. I expect your promises to bear fruit in the near future."

"Of course. I should return to my duties immediately then, if I may."

She was eager to deal with something immediate. Something important.

"One more thing before you go. You mentioned Dr. Wilson ran into some... problems. Have your suspicions regarding his true allegiances been confirmed?"

Miranda seemed taken off-guard with his question, the momentary surprise in her eyes visible a second before her cold expression hid any emotional response. She sighed.

"Frankly, I think yes. Long story short, the project needed core samples of Shepard's skin flakes for additional tests, and I planned on dispatching a science team to land on Alchera and conduct a thorough scan of the surroundings. Wilson, however, volunteered to go alone. He was... persistent.

"I assumed you were in charge of the operation."

The Illusive Man's voice didn't hold anger, or even accusation. If anything, it contained an eerie ignorance regarding a simple fact. Miranda, however, was ready with her answer.

"I owe you an apology, but I thought of it as an opportunity to uncover his motives once and for all. I rigged his shuttle with listening devices and forced him to leave in a modified Assault Armor riddled with tracking sensors. I assumed he would contact his real "employers", if there are any, while on this conveniently lengthy trip."

The Illusive Man was smiling with his eyes. He almost looked proud, and, despite his unmoving symmetric features, he even seemed impressed.

"Revelations?"

"Plenty. His first stop was Omega, and it wasn't simple refueling. He landed on Alchera after two hours and we lost contact moments after he stepped off. Silence ever since."

* * *

**Author's note: I completed Chapter 3 faster than I expected, and I think it came out fine. **

**Some things regarding Legion's 'wound': yeah, I screwed that up in Chap 2, but came up with a decent enough explanation that will work well for the plot. And we all pretend Galrun didn't notice Legion's gap before he shot him. You know, viewing angles. They distort... stuff. **

**Also, I noticed how Shepard could see the silver lights on hanars in ME2, which made it obvious Cerberus had tinkered with his perceptive abilities a little further than they needed to. I just thought I'd work that in. Maybe that's why we never interact with hanars in ME2. They'd uhh, wouldn't need translators.**


	4. Questions to Answers

**leviathan93 - Thanks a lot. **

**Inverness - Yeah I needed to have Legion pop in at his last step in search for Shepard, and get that N7 armor of his. Just seemed richening for the story.**

**demodave19 - Well, I already got addressed regarding Legion's gunshot issue and I tried to work that out in the last chapter. As for the hanar, well, a few of them are standing at the Citadel as non-interactive NPCs, one of them is directly next to the "you-humans-are-all-racist" turian at the entrance. And they _do_ have silver lights. Exactly what Thane described as "perceiving bioluminescence."I found it interesting so many people missed it.**

**The universe of Mass Effect and all canon characters belong to Bioware.**

**

* * *

**

The Illusive Man indifferently tilted his head, eying Miranda with as much curiosity as his stoic features could convey.

"I believe you have already dispatched a recon team?"

"Of course. Actually we _did_ receive a distress call from his suit's automated beacon, which usually activates if the user's vitals are below normal or if the suit has taken critical damage. But the signal was badly scrambled, my guesses are it was either pinged off a relay or was partially intercepted. Either way we're dealing with more lies than I'd like. The recon team has standing orders regarding Wilson, and I've reminded them of our ways of treating treason."

The Illusive Man regarded the withheld information dismissively. Miranda always knew what she was doing.

"And the readings from his shuttle?"

"Our techs are going through them as we speak, I'll forward any relevant data to you personally."

"Thank you Miranda. You can return to your duties now."

She simply nodded and walked away just as the Illusive Man's fingers interacted with a small holopad, momentarily deactivating the projector. He rotated his chair to face the massive star, taking a long drag from his cigarette as a sudden deep frown broke through his expression.

He always considered Wilson a valuable asset to the science team, but his "loyalty" originated from confusing events. His... reluctant enthusiasm to join an organization favoring polar ideals to the Council was doubtful at the very least, but Cerberus needed someone with his expertise. At least as long as he provided his assistance with Shepard, and considered his "cover" perfectly manufactured.

Besides, the Council wouldn't launch an all-out inside assault on Cerberus, it wasn't their style. Wilson was probably feeding them information, and Miranda has long since been the only source of information for him. That part wouldn't be a problem. As for his duties, what were the chances that a betrayer to Cerberus would actually interfere with the resurrection of Commander Shepard?

_But the Reapers were swept under the rug. They don't want him back...and are persistent to the point of sending humanity's second Spectre into Cerberus..._

His fingers swiftly composed renewed instructions for Miranda.

* * *

"Weren't you listening? I was undercover into Cerberus! I am here on the Council's demands, and if you care _at the very least_ to preserve your shiny reputation, y-you'd better think twice before doing whatever it is you're... whatever. It is. You-you're planning to... dammit!"

Galrun had chosen this particular toxin for obvious reasons. Apart from being practically impervious to any kinds of first-aid gels, it caused a curiously... painful effect _exclusively_ to humans once the administered cure would start filtering it out. _Slowly_.

He regarded Wilson's story with more interest than his trained mind told him to. They were off Alchera now; after tapping into the nearest comm buoy, he sent a thorough report to the Council in a single info burst. Spectres didn't usually do that after independent assignments, but his bosses would surely be interested in a geth ship along with an intact pilot residing in the middle of the Terminus. Oh, and the fact that a certain mass murderer was discovered working for Cerberus.

Now, however, things were taking dangerous shapes. Wilson's story sounded _exactly_ like the political bullshit Citadel Council always had a habit of stirring up... not that it did him any good. The turian's body language made it clear where the human could shove his lies. They would only postpone his death until Galrun would get a reply.

"Are you even paying attention? You just... blew my cover to hell... Cerberus is up to things you can't even imagine... you goddamn idiot... what the hell did you do to me?"

He convulsed at the pains as his attempts to free himself from the multiple restraints bore no fruit. They both sat in the rear compartment of the shuttle while the auto-pilot led them to the closest Relay linking with Citadel Space. Wilson's cries of pain intensified Galrun's migraines, and the turian silently growled in irritation. _I should have killed him right then... less problems..._

Galrun had been silent ever since he'd boarded the dropship back on Alchera. His prisoner had already been stirring, indicating his soon-to-come awareness. In the meantime, the Spectre had decided to start copying every bit of data he could dig up from the onboard computers, not forgetting to conduct a thorough scan for monitoring devices beforehand. After getting rid of the eleventh bug, Wilson had started wailing.

He had resisted the urge to knock him the hell out, he needed him sane and sound, at least for a little while. _Right. Sound._ Ignoring his captive's illogical accusations, he had continued working with the formidable amounts of data through his omnitool. Traveling vectors, possible Cerberus base locations in uncharted systems, Extranet contacts. When he had realized he was sweating from excitement, he'd removed his helmet and tossed it aside, instantly regretting not aiming at the bastard.

Then Wilson had recognized him, and started pleading.

Galrun had been listening to his surprisingly well-fabricated stories ever since.

"Look I know what you... what you're _presuming_ I did, Vakarian. But it was th-the Council's orders. All of it. From the very start, even C-Sec, I-"

Galrun's head snapped up that instant, piercing Wilson with a stare that seemed to shut him up, somehow working as a painkiller, too. The human froze in his seat, the mistake he just made registering on his features. He mouthed a curse and looked up, desperation clear on his face.

_So _very_ convincing._

Galrun's omnitool powered down as he stood up and approached the human. That damn data could wait; either Wilson was telling the truth, or he was lying. None of the outcomes gave him room for petty ignorance. He'd play along, just this once. _On his terms. _

He drew his hand cannon as he stopped inches before Wilson, not even caring to kneel down as he pressed the barrel hard against his constrained palm and fired. Twice.

His cry was surprisingly short, and got replaced by muffled groans as human curses of the rarest kind became distinguishable in his shaking voice. After yelling in pain once again as the barrel pressed hard against his wound, he forced himself to focus on the turian's face above him.

"That was hello."

Galrun's voice was even, face unmoving, not a hint towards emotion registering on his colorless features as he let the deep meaning behind those words sink in. Wilson's eyes watered as his clenched teeth gave way and he exhaled loudly, finally managing a string of intelligible words.

"You're dead you crazy son of a bitch. I'm a Spectre. Just like you. Go on. Kill me. Tort-ture me. Velarn will have your filthy head for this. At least I tried to be reasonable... with a goddamn turian, right..."

He even chuckled as he finished his sentence and looked away, bracing for another application of pressure on his bloodied hand. It never came. Instead, he felt the stare of hatred burning holes in his head as he glanced up at the turian crossing his arms. Lies could sometimes be crazy enough to deserve attention.

"You're telling me... that you – a lying, backstabbing coward who can't tell one end of a gun from another – got secretly made into a respective member of the Council Spectres, and that all those casualties at C-Sec was what, "necessary sacrifice" to get you stuck up in the Illusive Man's ass?"

"Precisely, turian genius. And don't forget the Council par- goddammit!"

He seized again as the last remnants of the toxin filtered out of his system. He broke into an uncontrollable surge of coughing, throwing his head down. Galrun's movements, on the contrary, were brutally precise as he yanked the human by his throat, pinning his head back against the seat as he brought his eyes inches before his face. He took a second to admire the healing capabilities of _interrogation_. The coughs were abruptly cut off as Wilson forced his mouth shut, his eyes starting to water again.

"And you try to convince _me_ that all of _that_ – including the murders – were overseen and ordered by the Council themselves? I really want to see how your mind works..."

He gave his throat a sharp squeeze before gently letting it go. He holstered the pistol he was still clutching in his other hand, and looked around for something. Wilson swallowed hard as he plucked up the courage for his next answer.

"That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you, _turian_."

Galrun's eyes darted back at him at the last word, noting the Cerberus influence in the "Spectre" shuddering and cowering before him. As his eyes wandered off again, he found a suitable object – a utility crate tucked under one of the passenger eats. He slid it out and before Wilson's sitting form. With the casualty of a civilian, he sat down before him and clasped his hands in his lap, letting out a small chuckle before stiffening.

He could imagine the human's condition right now. Constrained, at the mercy of a Spectre, desperately weaving webs of lies to somehow escape the inescapable. The terror on his face clearly showed the scope of that desperation, and Galrun could almost _see_ his mind gears turning, fabricating intricate new fairy tales to fit in with the bullshit he already blurted out.

But no kind of quick-thinking would make him victorious over logic, facts, and the element of advantage. Turians were one of the rare species with individuals developing differing skin pigments – apart from his skull-white features, the soft sockets around Galrun's blue eyes were a dark shade of red, making his stare much more menacing than the simple disorientation of a batarian or the bulky scare of a krogan. Psychologically, Wilson was at his mercy.

_My first textbook questioning. _The thought was almost funny.

"I hope Cerberus will understand if you arrive a bit late, or in several pieces. As I happen to be informed, they allow for certain... luxuries for their operatives. This can be your... ''day off", I guess. If I were you, I'd appreciate _my_ effort in trying to sort out your lies, because, frankly, I am here to kill you."

"You don't say... listen, Vakarian-"

Galrun didn't need to raise his voice in order to cut him off. He was simply making a point. Failure to comply was death, and the human before him knew as much.

"I listen only to your _answers_, which will generally be based on the _questions_ _you'll_ listen to. With all due respect, _fellow Spectre._"

Wilson was starting to brave up. The pain was most likely gone, and his mind was clear enough to concentrate, but there also seemed to be a hidden motive as he shrugged indifferently. _Convinced in his own truth. Interesting._

"Whatever."

Galrun didn't bite, however.

"Good. Now, to start, you say you're a member of the Spectres. And to think I'd be informed of new recruits... because, that's the way our system works, right? But you already know that, don't you colleague?"

Surprisingly, Wilson smirked. Either he was mocking Galrun's practiced facade, or...

"It seems I'll be breaking some secrets to you, buddy."

He couldn't be that good. He knew something, something genuine. _No. stay focused. Whatever it is will come out on its own. Bullets could give it a hand as well, just in case._

"Besides the existence of furry space monsters? I'm withering from anticipation, Wilson. Please do elaborate your latest bullshit."

"Heh. Yeah, listen. The Spectres _are_ above the law, right? And what _do_ they do, I ask you? Kill people, that's what. But the thing is, that's not the _only_ kind of, ah, _enforcement_ our Council likes. We have sub-groups, buddy. And I'm from the scientist bunch. Surprised?"

Truthfully, he was. Galrun couldn't imagine something like that slipping under his nose. Spectres had the kind of clearance that'd make the Shadow Broker drool, so if a covert branch was organized _in his ranks_ without his knowledge, well... no. Too early to judge. Whatever the hell Wilson was up to, there was no point opening up to him. At least not yet. _But_ _I think he's not lying... like the humans say, I can feel it in my gut..._

"By your sense of humor, yes. So, you're a... "scientist" type of a Spectre who was recruited in our hallowed ranks, right after Commander Shepard made your species proud - and somewhat outshined you, by the way – and got sent undercover into Cerberus, not before blowing up a C-Sec facility at the expense of twenty-one civilians, and dozens of officers. Correct?"

"I don't _expect_ you to believe, not even to understand... I _am_ guilty and I _have_ lost my sleep over that stuff, okay? But the crap that Cerberus is up to... listen, Vakarian, I'll tell you, if you want, really. I'll tell you everything the Man is cooking right under your noses, just... listen just... return me and don't blow my cover. It _will_ have severe repercussions for you, I swear to God you'll get assassinated or something if the Council catches wind you screwed this up... I'll tell you everything if you'll stay silent about it, deal?"

Galrun was a bit taken aback at the sudden outburst. He was truly desperate, he was sweating, and he actually lost himself and started begging for mercy. _Strange. Usually at these point they start spewing the _truth_. _

"I make deals with lots of people, Wilson. Information brokers, mercenaries, even batarian slavers if I'm sure it'll bite them in the ass someday. Unfortunately, "lying scum" is pretty hardcore, even for me."

His response was a test; Galrun was poking for reactions, and he got them – Wilson's features flinched, and he looked to the side as he composed his face, _falsifying_ an answer. He was honest before, and now, losing hope, he was going to make a pass at sarcasm before breaking down and embracing his fate... _unless he _did_ make all that up. _

"Right, all right then. Shiny boy Gal. Make a hole in my head and ask the Council to peer through it. I can guarantee that-th-that's the last thing they'll do. Just don't... _waste_ my time anymore, turian."

His smile, his words, his tone – it was all forced as opposed to earlier comments of confidence. Galrun caught as much, and he betrayed Wilson's perceptions of him as someone who'd listen – and got a reaction he was dreading for.

_He was telling the truth..._

Wilson hung his head low, chuckling slightly, obviously finding his left foot incredibly humorous. Galrun was as confused as a turian Spectre could get; nothing indicated the inner storm in his stoic features, but his glance was empty, unfocused. He still had to interrogate him regarding Cerberus, but nothing would come out unless Galrun restored Wilson's trust. Or rather, the little of it he had left.

He glanced at his omnitool before proceeding. _20 minutes to Omega-3/Eagle-2. Another ten for the Citadel jump itself. _He should have enough time. He'd hate to cancel a shuttle FTL flight and be forced to deal with random pirates. His gaze regained focus on the tied human before him. Wilson was eying the airlock with unstable curiosity.

"Times are wasted on entirely different fronts, Wilson..."

That came out softer than intended. But he caught the human's attention.

"Tell me what Cerberus is up to, and maybe I'll _consider_ sparing you for the Council."

Wilson's regained hopes went almost unnoticed on his features, apart from a bright smile which seemed too honest for someone like him.

"Oh, you'll _beg_ me to return to Cerberus if I spill their secrets to you, Vakarian."

"Charming assumption. Elaborate."

"You'll want updates on their doings, right? In order to keep your mouth shut, I'll need to start forwarding my reports to the Council to you, as well. Ain't that wonderful?"

Galrun froze, missing the joke completely. Was the bastard offering an inside job? What was there to know about Cerberus so important that was worth letting this scum go on with whatever it was doing?

"It's about Shepard, too. I remember you were fond of the guy, weren't you Vakarian?"

He seemed to think he was in control now, even started pushing Galrun's buttons... what the hell had Shepard to do with anything? The turian was losing control without even realizing it, as his self-imposed picture of Wilson shattered. The bastard was _still_ lying to him, because if that wasn't the case, he'd get an asset too good to be true...

"Stop toying with me, Wilson, it tends to get people killed. Asking me to let you go, and promising you'll fetch me info like the filthy varren you are? And Cerberus has secrets regarding Shepard? What they, resurrected him or something? Try harder."

As his cynical haze distorted, Galrun realized Wilson was laughing, roaring at his full throat as the Spectre finally managed to compose himself and bring his emotions in check.

"You have no idea where you just went, you perceptive turian bastard..."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Here's Chapter 4, wanted to do an interesting interrogation scene and I'm completely convinced that I screwed up, with the pacing at least. It was kinda getting stretched out, so I decided to do the Shepard revelation a bit faster than intended. Still, the current chapter came out quite a bit longer than the others. **

**Next chapter will probably contain a new POV... can't really say more, but I got some ideas I wanna cook over before I start. Might be a while before Chapter 5.**

**Also, thinking of upping the rating to M, since it's becoming incredibly hard to write convincing dialogue without a few strong words... would appreciate feedback regarding this topic.**

**So that's that. enjoy the read, and thanks for the reviews :) **


	5. A Necessary Risk

**The Mass Effect universe and all canon characters belong to Bioware.**

* * *

"We've received an urgent message from one of our Spectres. Vakarian, Galrun. You'd better see this personally, Councilors."

"Vakarian? The human sympathizer? I thought we all agreed to keep him out of Council business, at least for a while. His open campaigns against our treatment of-"

"Councilor, please. We should review this document without further distractions. Vakarian was obviously pursuing personal tasks, but some of his revelations may be jeopardizing things on a far greater scope. The intel provided here is most interesting – it involves one of our Secrunce* agents."

Absolute silence followed as three forms stood gathered in a dimly lit room, studying their terminals thoughtfully. The silence lingered long after they finished. A salarian voice broke the silence with a murmur.

"Foolish..."

A deep turian growl followed, which was quickly silenced by an asari.

"He couldn't have known, I assume we all agree on that. If our agent keeps his cover long enough for both of them to get to us, we should be able to settle everything peacefully.

The turian responded immediately, his earlier growl still present as his voice boomed with genuine hatred.

"It's not a matter of _if_, Councilor, but of _when_. With all due respect, the human was chosen solely for his abilities to... blend in. We can't know how he'll stand up to an interrogation from a Spectre, let alone _Vakarian_. Persistent idealist."

The salarian shot back with regained confidence as he seemed to be determined to dismiss their current topic of discussion.

"His motives are understandable regardless of his traits, Councilor. I think we should discuss the more peculiar of matters at hand. The lone geth and its intact vessel."

The salarian locked gazes with both of his companions before proceeding.

"The report is quite short on specifics, but it seems that the geth has expressed lower hostile tendencies than expected, and appeared to interfere with Vakarian's mission simply out of, for the lack of a better term, "curiosity". Seeing as the memory core in the ship can still be intact, we might find out facsinating details on geth evolution. I suggest we _don't_ pass this up."

The asari was deep in thought. The turian, however, flared his mandibles and shook his head. Stating the obvious, ever as always.

"I don't find interfering in the Terminus acceptable at this point. Alchera is a deserted planet, and the ship will most likely survive a reasonable amount of time before we decide to move it. We need to... think this through."

The asari abruptly raised her head, the results of her prolonged thinking formulating into words.

"I suggest a simpler solution. We can send another agent of the Secrunce to evaluate the ship on location. If it is pilotable, he will return it for further study. If not, he'll copy whatever data he'll manage and proceed to his... second objective... indeed."

The salarian grew impatient as an understanding glance was exchanged between the two Councilors. He never liked being left in the dark. He cleared his throat before speaking up.

"Which is?"

The turian turned toward him after the asari's thoughts connected perfectly with his mindset. The Spectre would have rights to question Agent Wilson's whereabouts and work under Cerberus in case he already cracked him up. Those rights would cause problems, among the Spectres and with the oblivious human Councilor. As degrating as it was, it was a necessary sacrifice. _A necessary risk._

"Assassination."

* * *

"You're pushing the limits of my general trust towards people, which are much higher than those to idiots like you."

Wilson was smiling now, having blurted out his whole story to ensure the turian's confusion, _at the very least._ The goddamn idiot had actually forwarded a report to the Council _and_ mentioned the "Cerberus agent" he picked up, he admitted as much. His fate was sealed. From now on, the more he knew, the harder the bullet would hit him.

He just had to stall until they arrived at their destination.

He knew what was going on behind those rock-solid features of the arrogant bastards. He wasn't _really_ questioning mental states here – Vakarian knew that everything fit in the general reputation of the Council, Cerberus, and, well, Wilson himself, as well. And with every tiny dart of his reddish eyes, _he was buying it_.

But the double-faced jerk would die first before showing his doubts, of course.

"You're basically saying that you're on my side. And that I should return you as fast as I can to those racist "employers" of yours you don't really work for, unless I want to break your cover and face charges of ah, treason. And that they are attempting to "resurrect" Commander goddamn Shepard, and you're actually one of the lead scientists on the project and plan to ensure his... "victorius return" to the unaware world? I can't even decide if it's the level of intricacy or dumbassness that impresses me in this story, Wilson. You can be proud of yourself."

Of course he was unmoved, the damn birdface. He had been deprived of some of the more smaller but important truths – like the real reason Wilson was at Cerberus – but still refused to admit his own doubts so _visibly_ gnawing at him behind those lifeless eyes. Wilson knew he believed him at some point – Spectres like Vakarian didn't bite in their captives' intentions and question them on their own terms much too often. He'd be dead if the turian actually meant what he said and showed.

Besides, Wilson knew enough of his reputation as well as the man behind it to comprehend one thing – being sincere was his only ticket to any remotely successful resolution of his state.

"I've told you everything I know, turian. If you require specifics on Shepard's cell structure – be my guest. Other than that, I'm all out. You can confirm it with the Council once they deny everything and shoot you in the back."

The turian seemed to flinch, just a bit, as Wilson mentioned his updated life expectancy. He did the same last time. Was it something he could exploit?

"You know how they operate Vakarian. Their whole point with the Spectres, their treatment of Shepard, they believe that _any_ means justify the ends – and if you'll become a walking pile of top-secret information on a time bomb, they'll want you out of their way. Your only solution is to let me go and just trust me. Come on, don't be too stupid. You know I'm right."

"Could've mentioned that when I told you about my report. You're not warning against the Council, Wilson. You're counting on them. So thanks for confirming the suspicion. I guess we could divert our flight to somewhere more... private to sort this out without so much _unwanted pressure_. What do you say? Omega, maybe? Grab drinks with your "friends" who gladly gave away your current mission? That'll ease up the tension." He didn't miss a beat as he powered up his omnitool, before Wilson felt the slight tinge of vertigo as the shuttle dropped out from FTL, practically did a 180 and jumped right back in.

Goddammit.

The bastard had more going on through his lump than he showed. Wilson's only comfortable way out was cut off. He looked down at his restraints with the flicker of hope quickly dying under a rainstorm – that was far from being an option. He'd have to wait till Vakarian made his next step. His "friends", as the turian correctly emphasized, would pay later. Cerberus would hopefully understand.

_After all, the shuttle relayed exactly what I wanted it to relay. It's not like they know enough to uncover me._

_Unless the ice queen overdid it with bugs again. Damn her to hell._

Vakarian interrupted his deep musings with a loud sigh. He stretched his back as a way to announce "bedtime".

"Oh, and it'll be a nice place to discuss your geth friend. He'll be in Citadel Surgical soon, by the way. Just in case you'll want to hold his hand later."

The turian got up and walked towards the pilot's seat, dismissing Wilson's open mouth with a wave of his hand.

_What the hell was he talking about?_

* * *

Miranda hurried through the sterile corridors with a confident pace as she maneuvered towards the Quantum Communications Room. It was the second time he'd called her in two days. _Breaking records. Must be something important._

Currently, however, she had more free time on her hands than during their previous meeting. Continuing serious surgeries on Shepard was foolish until Wilson got back. _Even if the bastard is a __traitor._ Her only occupations were the dossiers of the Commander's future team the Illusive Man had ordered sorted out. He really liked planning ahead.

_Then again, the stubborn optimism was always my doing. I guess I'll be the one to blame if this whole project goes to hell._

Miranda reached her objective and stepped upon the projector as a circular holographic wall rose around her, distorting her current surroundings and creating a three-dimensional 360-degree view of a vast office. For the first time since she had conversed with the Illusive Man, his room was dark; he had his viewing windows closed shut and even his various holo-emitters were off. She could faintly make out two glowing dots of blue above a smoking red tip.

The Illusive Man always knew how to make a fresh impression, and Miranda was affected every single time more than she let slip. His sole presence conveyed a strange mix of confidence, respect, fear and power which always served as her inspiration and reminder as to what Cerberus was standing for._ As to who Cerberus was._

The thoughts went through her head fast and unnoticed by the outer world. Her posture and expression was focused and strict as she spoke. Her counter-attacks to his impressions kicked in: she never addressed him directly, not even using a "sir" or one of his various codenames. And she rarely greeted him; an unhealthy habit she unwillingly picked up from the man across her.

"You needed to see me?"

One of his eyes went slightly upward as the other descended, barely distinguishable through the darkness. He tilted his head, just as the smoking tip left its spot and soared below and aside. He audibly let out a puff of smoke as his calm voice, soothing but terrifying, filled the spacious chamber he was seated in.

"I understand you are currently short on work, Miranda. I need you to investigate an attack on one of our stations. It was a search party. A _successful_ search party."

Miranda managed to halt her eyebrow before it went up. She could not force herself to get used to all the intimate details he happened to know regarding her immediate doings, and she mentally kicked herself before her mind went somewhere inappropriate.

There had been an attack. On them. And as hard as she found to read the Illusive Man, he seemed to be coming clean before her. He was... surprised.

"Have we identified the enemy?"

Her rocketed question was in sharp contrast to his sly remarks. Miranda snatched any opportunity to beat people at their own game and excelled at it, even in regards of the Man himself. She enjoyed the sensation as her boss seamlessly conjured a glass and took a deliberately slow sip. _Was it bourbon again?_ She could make out the clattering of ice inside.

"We know the general details Miranda. What _you_ need to do is conduct a thorough investigation to find out motives, goals, and where our attackers have gone. As the survivors have reported, their custom-painted armor fell well within the descriptions from Dr. T'Soni while she fought certain individuals for Shepard's corpse."

This time her brow did go up.

"The Shadow Broker?"

The mysterious information trader has always been a blind spot for Cerberus' all-reaching web of agents, and she knew well enough how the presence of an unknown, yet powerful power disturbed the Illusive Man. In fact, she didn't recall anything else disturbing him at all, if his barely depictable emotional responses could be classified as such.

_That, and his obsession with Shepard's personality..._

She shook off her trail of thought as she focused on his silent reply.

"Yes. They were after one of our biological weapons, a plague another Cell was working on."

Miranda's knowledge of the structure of the organization she worked for was vague, and it was much more than most got. She understood that "Cells", as the Illusive Man called them, were entirely independent formations of Cerberus scientists, soldiers and covert agents completely isolated from each other in every sense of the word. She would never have suspected the existence of this particular station if her expertise wasn't so necessary.

_Benefits of genetic superiority._ She loathed it, but embraced as a necessary factor.

As Miranda's mind wandered back to the subject at hand, her next question started dangerously pushing her curiosity. She couldn't help it. She carefully disguised her interest under a need-to-know basis.

"Understood. Anything I should know regarding the specifics of the research they were doing?"

She knew the Illusive Man well enough to understand that he never fully trusted anyone, and Miranda's success at her dedication was more of a suspicion for him than a reassuring reason. His eyes regarded her for a split second before easing her interest.

"The plague that has been engineered in the given station is extremely complex in structure and presents extreme priority to Cerberus. It's point was to mutate and destroy the ability to process air in all species but human. Had the vorcha not been so... persistently resilient to viruses, we would have had the plague ready by now. It's abilities are as they sound; extremely effective and deadly to any species but ours. Symptoms are minor and progress quickly, and the disease itself can evoke a pandemic effect in mere days. We don't want it in the wrong hands Miranda. I'm sure you understand."

In fact, before she could get to the rational understanding part, Miranda was more shocked than convinced. She had always accepted the countless... sacrifices Cerberus had a habit of making for the greater good, but she never thought the Illusive Man would express genuine xenophobia. She wasn't to question his deepest motives, but she hoped he didn't find corruption in his power. Miranda's opinions were _just_ as strong as her will to rebel against wrong.

She would regard her organization and the unknown scope of their doing with much greater caution and curiosity from now own.

Her features expressed entirely different emotions, with a fake and enthusiastic smile spreading on her lips as she nodded her head, slowly.

"I see. I'll be ready to leave within an hour, and I'll report once I'm there. The coordinates to-"

"Already sent."

She noted his first-ever attempt at cutting her off mid-sentence. He was... in a hurry. Had his darkened surroundings had anything to do with this?

_Or maybe I'm being paranoid..._

"I'll await your word once you've sorted out the situation. And alert someone on the Minuteman to contact me once Wilson's shuttle data is extracted. Miranda.

She caught the glimpse of his holopad activating before her connection was cut short. She never relaxed her composure, staring through air as the holo-emitter powered down and silenced its humming. Her mind was already racing in the opposite direction of the obvious.

Did he doubt her resolve and lose her trust? Was this a trap? Or had she just happened to stumble upon his more... serene configuration?

She'd find out soon enough. And she'd take her assault rifle along, just in case.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**And here's chapter 5. Some new POVs, and possible starting points of new story arcs. Wanted to elaborate a bit more regarding the shadow broker, but I think I'll wait till the September 7 DLC to find out more about him before I tread into dangerous non-canon territory.**

**Oh, and a little term elaboration:**

**Secrunce* - Secret Recon and Undercover Intelligence branch of Spectres. Went a bit imagination-frenzy there, but I got my version of the Council as pretty much the hypocrites they seem to be deep down. I needed them to have their dirty secrets. **


	6. Trouble at Tartarus

**The Mass Effect universe, along with all canon characters, places and events belongs to Bioware.**

* * *

"Yeah. Yeah we'll be there. And don't you show up dusted, my friend's here a bit... on edge. Ok... ok, just get on with it. We're waiting. Ten minutes."

_Goddamn scavenger..._

"There."

Wilson observed his captor as they stood in one of many filthy streets of Omega, a barely functional public terminal doing its best to power down in front of them. The station was a disorganized metropolis housing the worst criminals, liars and murderers organic life could produce. Without much law enforcement apart from merc-controlled areas – which had the tendency to serve as battlegrounds twice a week – the station was a true incarnation of anarchy in form.

A seemingly perfect place to loose a government agent, or so it seemed; Wilson recalled the countless times he tried to escape since they docked. Vakarian was an impossible case of turian wits – every time Wilson gave out subtle signals to mercs, every time his eyes darted around, scanning for an escape – Vakarian was right there ready with a surprisingly reassuring fist. His face was bruised enough as it was, so he dropped thinking of another attempt to outsmart the Spectre.

He enjoyed turning his mind upside down, regardless. The birdface was acting like he had everything under control – but his mind almost visibly fumed from the frenzy he had going on in there. All his "beliefs" and "loyalties" to the Council were trembling at their core. Wilson couldn't blame him – the moment he was awarded his position after a meeting in the Citadel Tower, after all the revelations of the dirt their precious Councilors were sweeping daily under the rug, he couldn't deny being worried himself.

_Not your job to worry regarding politics. _Vakarian had forced him to contact one of his loose associates on the station – the salarian bastard who gave out his assignment and ensured the mess he was currently in. Wilson regretted his companion, this once as an obstacle which would halt him from beating the little lizard's face to pulp – but what did he expect? Fargut was the worst kind of dirt you could scrape off Omega – running errands for second-grade merc groups, selling off newcomers to slavers to score another dose of red sand and, occasionally, helping Wilson with his duties.

_Right. If you get to do "duties" for scum like Cerberus – it's always goddamned Omega on the top of the list. _He didn't like the humanists one bit – he painfully realized that he was finding it hard to confess it to himself already. In fact, his complete and utter hatred for terrorists like _them_ – the Illusive Man and his adamant minions – were what caused his mess today, not Fargut. It was because of his "tough life" that he decided to get drunk on Omega mere hours before he headed off for that frozen rock. And there you go – the slimy bastard only had to ask _once_ – "so, what'cha up to now, Wilson?" - and he was spilling guts like the piece of useless crap he was.

The salarian knew too much about Wilson already. His secret "visits" to lower Afterlife would never go unnoticed by the little coward – but he always seemed to keep what Wilson confessed to himself, and he'd never try to feed him the crap he'd spin for newcomers. Fargut must have appreciated someone who didn't treat him like street litter in turn – he had his own miserable problems he'd occasionally babble about. Then he'd give away some unlucky bastard Cerberus was interested in – and trot away without paying for a whole lot of drinks. _And yet, he was the closest I had to friend – his reliability proved as much. _

That is, until a goddamn Spectre stepped up on him with all the right questions.

"You do know that staring at my pistol won't cause it to fire, right?"

Vakarian was eying him with that depressing air of clinical interest only Council Spectres could muster. Wilson collected his thoughts and composed his best attempt at indifference. He didn't have time for petty remarks - and it seemed that Vakarian actually caught the hint, steering the conversation towards more pressing matters.

"So, Cerberus actually bought your story?"

Naturally, they had needed to craft a lie with just enough strings of truth to silence the Illusive Man's suspicions. Vakarian told him about the bugs he removed – but those were already programmed to loop false readings. If they were lucky, Cerberus knew no more than of his unscheduled stop at Omega – that, and his blackout at Alchera. Not the easiest tracks to cover, but it could've been _much_ worse.

"Looks like it, you can never tell with the arrogant prick. He said he'd check on with my "shuttle data" once I'm back – the data he's already sitting on, of course - so you'll probably have to reactivate all those listeners again. Other than that, he seems convinced that I needed to check up with some contacts on Omega for possible news regarding scavenge teams on Alchera. I'll have a hard time explaining my fruitless journey, though..."

Wilson had the corner of his eye ready to notice the turian's browplates raise a little. His open hatred for the Ilusive Man was apprantly surprising, but he needed to be careful not to overact. Dropping hints of his possible chances at returning to Cerberus could easily be counted as such.

Vakarian, however, didn't bite. The bastard was all coldness and to-the-book.

"And the readings from your suit? The distress signal?"

"Easy. Statistics were never in favor of cold temperatures and inner armor systems. The one I got hooked up with was modified anyway. They'll buy _that_, for sure."

Vakarian exhaled loudly, and a hint of disturbance danced across his avian features. His mandibles flared for a second, before locking tight around his lower jaw again as his eyes darted back to Wilson. He sure held back more than even he could handle.

"Sure hope you're right. I gotta admit, if your bullshit is worth any money, I'll be re-thinking the outcomes of your immediate existence. But you _will_ answer for what you did back then. You have my word on it."

Wilson smirked. They both knew what the turian referred to: the C-Sec incident mere weeks after the Battle of the Citadel. The Council needed their Secrunce agent, Wilson needed freedom. And the damn bureaucrats never cared if a dozen innocents were murdered, as long as they got their hands on a valuable asset. Convincing Vakarian of the Council's fault in the given matter was senseless – he saw his obsessiveness with the issue. But the turian had brains, he'd give him that. He'd most likely work that out himself, sooner or later.

Maybe he did, already. _Maybe that's why I'm still alive._

Wilson suddenly realized that his face was visibly contorted from his thoughts. As he looked up, he saw Vakarian giving that I-know-what-you're-thinking-about smile before his gaze focused on something behind him. His features darkened.

"Relax, Wilson. I like your shiny head too much to deflate it right now. Come on, gather yourself. There he is. If your stories classify as non-fiction, he'll recite them word-by-word."

* * *

"So they basically knocked down the front doors, gunned down anything that moved - _including_ your "assault troops" – and managed to find what they were looking for in less than twenty minutes?"

"Y-yes ma'am. That about covers it. We assumed that they had somehow... acquired plans for th-the station."

Miranda shook her head with gritted teeth as one of the few survivors from the Tartarus station stood before her, re-telling the details of the attack with little success at hiding his fear. It always helped when somebody accepted their incompetence. Always motivated for truthfulness.

It also helped to cover treachery. She didn't need his petty ingenuity to figure out that the Shadow Broker did indeed possess plans – and not only. The group of attackers were probably armed with much more intel than the Broker's web of contacts could reach. This had to be an inside job, and the fact that there _were_ survivors at all indicated as much._ It was one of _them_. _Maybe even the failed excuse for a human trembling before her.

But that didn't matter to her right now. She turned around and walked away without saying another word, leaving the survivors with the med team she bought with her. They did more than simply patch soldiers up, of course – they'd search and interrogate every "lucky" operative from the Cell, and by the time she'd completed her personal investigation, none of them would be alive.

Just precautions.

Oddly enough, her previous paranoia had given way to her more common, colder self. She _knew_ she hadn't given the Illusive Man one reason to doubt her loyalty, and her earlier assumptions only fueled her self-criticism. This investigation obviously wasn't a trap, either. They were _actually_ dealing with a seriously well-prepared assault against Cerberus.

_So what if it _wasn't_ an inside job, and the Broker got intel the traditional way? What will that mean to our dominance?_

Her omnitool beeped, and, without warning or waiting for confirmation, the Illusive Man's upper figure materialized above her left wrist. His gaze was ever-effective even over unstable channels, and he appeared to be situated in his second office, the once he used for private meetings. She could just make out the leather back of the chair he was sitting in.

"Miranda. What's the verdict?"

She sighed as she looked around. She would appreciate if the call came a few minutes later, as she yet had to conduct thorough checks on lab equipment and various logs. But the general picture _was_ there, and the message was clear.

"Just like they said. Attack, quick and extremely well-coordinated, my guess would be an inside job. But the intel they had... aside from the plans, they seemed to know _exactly_ what they were coming for. Meaning the mercs had at least one scientist with them. And they weren't very secretive regarding their motives, either. I guess we can be pretty sure this wasn't some vendetta against Shepard."

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second.

"How so?"

Miranda looked up at the massive holoscreen in the main lab. It filled a major portion of the far wall, and the usual readouts and charts were replaced by a single note blinking in giant letters.

_Yes, the message _was_ clear. Literally even._

_YOUR MOTIVES ARE IGNORANT. WE SERVE THE TRUE PURPOSE TO SALVATION. WE WILL ASSIST IN BRINGING YOUR SPECIES TO A BRILLIANT NEW BEGINNING. _

* * *

The salarian approaching them visibly winced as he noticed just _who_ Wilson's "friend" turned out to be. The Spectre eyed him a warning, hand resting on his sidearm. As their twitchy buddy approached, Galrun lowered his head so that he could whisper a clear message to the human beside him.

"I'll do the talking. I'll ask the questions... I need _you_ for an example. Are we clear?"

Wilson frowned as he looked up to him. He mouthed _example?_ Just as the salarian stopped a few meters before them, hand wringing feverishly, eyes darting between the two men. He was visibly troubled, and with good reason. His gaze lingered on the bruises decorating Wilson's face. He gulped as he managed a wide smile, fear present in his voice as he greeted them, words racing.

_That's how an example works, Wilson._

"He-hello Wilson, I was just- he was threatening me, so... I didn't really mean to... look, I didn't tell him anything too important- I-I mean, crap crap crap, just... whaddayawant, Spectre? I know we can... w-work this out, right? Nothing to-"

"By the spirits, take a break already. We're on a, friendly visit." _so he _was_ dusted all right. As long as it didn't hurt his memory recall..._

Galrun's tone was friendly as he approached the salarian and put a hand on his shoulder. The idiot just grinned back, eyes never stopping their movements as his hands continued wrestling with each other.

"I happen to know that you and Wilson are good friends, and when I told you I just needed to meet up with him... well, now you know I was telling the truth. We're buddies, aren't we, Wilson?"

The bruised man was a smirking bag of sarcasm as he forced out a "Yes".

Galrun looked back at Fargut with an air of reassurance. He gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"He holds no grudges, really. Actually he's quite grateful that you assisted in our meet-up, and promised he'd buy you a drink someday."

Wilson's face darkened beyond all recognition, contrary to the salarian's smile suddenly widening at frightening lengths, tones of happiness apparent in his thin voice.

"Sure, sure just- something you wanted? I know I can't- I mean, here not safe. Her people everywhere, she doesn't want me in these places. Go someplace safe?"

Galrun sighed as the poor lad looked around for Aria's thugs. The pirate queen of Omega had little tolerance for second-class citizens like him. It was annoying, really. But the lizard could do better than what his usual occupations were.

Irrelevant.

"Look, you know who I am. They'll tolerate if you hang around for a few secs, I just need you to tell me something. Then you get lost. Deal?"

Fargut childishly mocked a salute as his eyes _somehow_ managed to lock with Galrun's, albeit for no more than two seconds.

"Sure thing, Spectre! Ask quickly, need to... do something fast."

Wilson crossed his arms as Galrun led the salarian back to their spot. He waved his hand at the lizard, a cynical smile tugging at his lips. Galrun knew that expression. The message behind it was crystal-clear. _The salarian would get his share. Soon._

"So, Fargut." Wilson snapped back to reality as Galrun boomed his voice. He wondered what went on in his head as he seemed to drift away more often than usual lately. Attempts to escape were futile, he'd made a point on that particular topic – so either it was guilt eating him away, or his factory of lies working double-shifts. He'd know soon enough. "I just want you to answer something _very_ specific, so focus."

The salarian nodded eagerly, eyes scanning the multiple alleyways.

"I'd like you to tell me- hey, eyes up here! Tell me where our friend Wilson is working right now."

Fargut grinned on like the innocent idiot he was. "Ask him, then. He-he forgot or? What?"

Galrun didn't expect direct disobedience. Maybe he needed to loosen up his friendly attitude a bit. Or maybe he didn't. Outsmarting drug addicts was one of his _personality traits._

"You think you can manage without knowing reasons? Could get you into ah, trouble, you know how it goes. I just need you to tell me who _exactly_ is Wilson here working for."

The word _trouble_ caused Fargut's mouth to open in shock as he turned his head to Wilson, begging for answers. The human smiled and nodded encouragingly. _He could do that?_

"I-I... that, Cerberus, you know? Th-the-"

"Tell him the truth, Gutters. I don't mind as long as we forget about that drink."

Fargut gulped. He looked back at the Spectre who was staring daggers at the human who just spoke up, and it became clear that their friendship act was flawed. Nevertheless, the little guy bit his lower lip before looking down and balling his hands into fists.

"He-He's a... whatever... something with, Citadel. Secret agent, or something" he mumbled. He seemed deep in thought before his head snapped back up, a newfound smile playing on his features. "Secret Reconnaissance and Undercover Intelligence! Right? Toldya I'd remember that!"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Here's chapter six, some introductions to the Shadow Broker line I'm starting, which will most probably derive from the DLC that gets released today. I also got Fargut some story time, he was a woefully potential character in the game you only met once. The kinda guy who'd get you underground info then stab you in the back.**

**Also no, Galrun hasn't forgotten about Garrus, and he sure as hell is taking the opportunity of being on Omega to sort things out with him. Wanted to incorporate some of his worries here, but it'd stretch the chapter out too much.**

**Oh, and I decided to name my chapters. A bit cheesy I know, but seems better this way. **

**Thanks to anyone who's reading and enjoying this! **


	7. Tenants of a Vanguard

**The Mass effect universe and all canon characters belong to Bioware.**

* * *

"Off-course"?

"S-so to speak, sir. He seems to have run into... some kind of trouble. An interference. A... Spectre, as far as we know. We're working on it."

"Working on what?"

The recipient gulped, staring into the console as the lifeless voice continued pushing him. Pushing for answers, for information, for something _he didn't know._ That was the truth. And that kind of truth was severely forbidden where he worked.

James desperately looked around the small group of operators seated in a dimly lit room, where the only source of light was the sickening orange glow of their terminals. Amongst the silence that followed his boss' request, his colleagues continued to ignore him. He couldn't blame them, exactly: he would have done precisely the same. He would-

It was too late when he realized he'd been thinking for too long.

"Operative Morrison, report to my office."

He stared at the console with a blank expression, his insides knotting as disbelief flooded his mind.

"S-sir?"

But the connection was already terminated.

One of his co-workers shook her head in silence. A gasp was heard from the far end of the room. He could sense as tension settled over every other person in the cramped space. It took a moment for the lively beeps of the terminals and random comm chatter to restart with doubled force, leaving James sitting frozen in his place.

He sat there for minutes before he felt a nudge in his ribs. He looked around at a salarian, the man's reptilian features doing their best to hide concern behind a reassuring smile. He had to go. It was stupid to get worked over something like this.

After all, only _most_ of the visitors haven't returned from the Shadow Broker's office alive.

* * *

"Not yet, Fargut. A couple more questions, then you're free to hop."

"Buchya said..."

"Focus."

Galrun looked around at Wilson, pondering over the human's cynical facade. If he really _was_ telling the truth all that time... no point avoiding all the important details anymore.

He looked back at the little salarian nervously observing his new surroundings. Fargut was visibly agitated now, if such a term could be applied to his behavior, as he failed to deduct the reason for their conversation to be moved into an apartment. Galrun had purchased safehouses almost on every criminal-centric station or colony in the Terminus, and discussing Commander Shepard's resurrection in an alleyway on Omega would be... compromising, at the very least. His one-room flat seemed secure and private enough for them to continue.

"Hey birdface. Got any ice in 'ere?"

His gaze darted back at Wilson, who was pointing at a visible bruise over his right eye. _He deserved that for kicking me in my armored..._ But then again, he also deserved a little trust. The drug-addicted half-excuse for a salarian, now actively eying Galrun's wall safe, had ensured as much.

"Look in the fridge. And no funny business, I tend to forget the meaning of "warning shots" when I'm amused."

Wilson broke into a grin as he sat up, raising his arms in mock surrender.

"Jeez, just wanna put some ice to your handiwork here. Chill."

He walked over as Galrun's eyes shifted back onto his second guest. He seemed calmer now, but it was hard to read salarian emotions, despite their open nature. You never knew what was going on in their accelerated brain. He coughed loudly, signaling Fargut to finally look away from the safe.

"Okay, topic number two. You confirm that Wilson here works for the Council, right?"

"Sure. He said-"

"Quite enough. Now, has he ever mentioned Commander Shepard, or anything linked to him?"

Fargut seemed to ponder a bit. After a brief telepathic exchange with his hands, he shrugged and looked at the human mumbling under his nose as he fumbled around in the fridge. His reply was silent, the edgy excitement ever present.

"Commander... I dunnow... who again?"

Galrun sighed with irritation as he resisted the urge to rub his temples. His migraines have finally decided to return, and the forgetful little brat didn't help.

"Commander. Shepard. The one who was in the vids a year ago, saved the Council, remember?"

Wilson suddenly spoke up from the other side of the room, closing the fridge as he revealed a large cloth apparently wrapped around some ice. He started adjusting the thing to comfortably put it against the multiple bruises.

"I'm not as unprofessional as you, Vakarian. Wouldn't rant about Shepard on Omega now, would I?"

Galrun partially ignored him, fixing Fargut with a hole-burner.

"Are you _sure_ he never mentioned Shepard?"

The salarian started rubbing his fringe as his mouth slowly opened in confusion.

"I dunno, can't... I guess not, then. Well I-I didn't... remember, or... I don't even know who that is. Can I go now? Need to... buy stuff."

The turian shook his head. The crazy little thing didn't even know who Commander Shepard was, _who would've thought_... but he couldn't blame Wilson for not wanting to reveal something so... sensitive. And neither was Shepard the most famous person on Omega, Terminus never seemed to be the Spectre's primary point of interest in his hunt for Saren.

But then again, he always had leads, intel, he knew the enemy's every step, he stalked and chased the rogue agent around half the galaxy, he didn't need distractions. He was precise, deadly, and ever compassionate at the same time. Rarely known traits for a Spectre. Incorrectly regarded as weaknesses.

And after all his efforts... putting down Anoleis on Noveria, liberating Zhu's Hope, crippling quite a few merc groups, and even potentially preventing the return of the krogan rebellions after Virmire... Terminus could use someone like him. Back then, the Council and the Alliance were both fighting for control over Shepard, and Galrun was positive that all those politics were what got him killed in the first place.

If only he - with all his assets, firepower, and _determination_ - would have a free go at filth hubs like Omega... the galaxy would be shining from polish in a few weeks. Maybe that's why he was targeted by the enemy... and maybe that's why his allies decided to continue his work.

The last thought stuck to Galrun as he looked up the salarian, observing as the scavenger fiddled with his hands once again. The turian contemplated his situation... and what more he could get out of it.

"Sure you can." He mumbled.

Fargut looked up, eyes crawling out of their sockets.

"I c-can go?"

"Yeah, that too... but first, you said you greet newcomers in this district, didn't you? Met any turians recently?"

* * *

"So he wasn't deceiving us."

"We reviewed his shuttle logs and it appears he _did_ stop by Omega for a refuel. But that's not the main part. It seems he was attacked on Alchera, or so his message claims. Geth."

Two eyebrows went up over a pair of steely-blue orbs, shining in sharp contrast against the darkened office.

It was the third time Miranda had met the Illusive Man in person. As she sat before him, hands folded in her lap, she let her gaze travel around the small meeting room furnished with dark wood and illuminated without much effort. Surprisingly, the office was lacking in any form of decorative furniture, apart from the sharp-edged table and the two chairs both of them were seated in. The Illusive Man, hands clasped casually before him, observed her reaction as they spoke.

"He said there was a single platform on the ground and that he disabled it, left for us to retrieve. He also mentioned that the Geth piloted a shuttle, which is also on-site. I suggest we dispatch a team immediately, so to clear out chances for mercenaries getting their hands on something that big."

"And to check if his story was fabricated or not."

"Precisely."

The Illusive Man's smile of satisfaction was contagious. He reached into his inner pocket for his metal box of cigarettes. Miranda politely looked away, staring through the dark finish of the room, thinking. If Wilson was actually telling the truth, well, they would confirm that for sure soon enough.

And even if he wasn't, they needed someone with his expertise right now. They would discard him after his purpose was fulfilled, Miranda was sure of that. Wilson stirred up too much suspicion, and Cerberus tolerated none.

As the lid of his lighter clicked down, Miranda looked up at her boss.

"I understand I've been called here for something more important?"

As ashes fell from his cigarette, the Illusive Man's eyes darkened. He reached up, rubbing his right eyebrow, as if choosing his next words carefully – something he rarely did. His gaze, however, didn't falter.

"My contacts have confirmed that the Shadow Broker sold the Tartarus plague to the Collectors."

Miranda let her mouth hang open for a few millimeters. _Great_. Or maybe even... really great...

Her eyes lost their focus as she mused over something, the Illusive Man's curious expression testing her. Then it clicked.

"What if... what if the _Collectors_ are the ones abducting human colonies, and now... they need something to-to immobilize larger, multinational settlements?"

The Illusive Man broke his glare, looking past her with an air of... disappointment? Did he expect more?

"That's as good a guess as any other. The Collectors negotiate dozens of subjects at best, and they tend to be diplomatic with their requests. Abductions were never their style."

Miranda thought about this. Then why-

"Then Why do they need it?"

"That's what you're going to find out. The Lazarus cell will be temporarily put to a pause. "

Miranda was taken aback by this sudden statement.

The cigarette dissolved completely as her boss rose from his seat, sliding a datapad across the table. Without another word, he strode out of the office, making sure to close the door as silently as possible. The air was heavy with smoke.

* * *

Alchera was... cold.

And turians _hated_ the cold. A Secrunce agent adorned in hard-bitten Blue Suns standard gear was as sharply aware of the fact as ever. The irritated click of his mandibles produced a dull echo inside the helmet.

Agent Scilar looked around, taking in the enormous wreckage resting silently under the star-filled sky. _Sky_. It was interesting that the methane-thick atmosphere could still qualify as one, rendering a breathtaking view of outer cosmos. Amada, the system's sun, was shining weakly, but determinately upon the planet.

Upon the Normandy.

The ship of the former Spectre was awesome to behold, even in its death – all the intact parts of the hull represented the finest in turian engineering, the shapes vaguely resembling the most common ST-class fighters of the Hierarchy. The contrasting paint job shimmered against the snow, emanating dancing sparkles against the white plains._ Such a waste._

Scilar shrugged. Better crashed than in the hands of a human.

His omnitool beeped as he was strolling towards an unusually intact Infantry Vehicle stuck inside a frozen mound. The turian ignored the incoming message for a bit, confused at the strange sight; _Ah_. The M-35, one of the few innovations on the Alliance's behalf. The rapid-entry IFV was designed to withstand extreme drops the likes of which it had suffered a year ago. Coupled with a decent enough resistance to environmental hazards, the rover proved itself as the perfect choice for any kinds of military deployment, infiltration operations, or full-out confrontations.

He ran his three-fingered hand over an armored wheel.

He even remembered going through Shepard's reports where he boasted about taking on numerous Thresher Maws with it. Scilar snorted. _Right_. Every human knew no better than to craft tales inspired by trash vids.

And they also had the nasty habit of _lying_.

He looked down at his omnitool, the reply from the Council projected short, precise, and to-the-point.

_Absence of Geth tech confirmed. Begin execution of phase two immediately._

He liked that word, _execution_. Whenever he heard it straight from the top, he knew the boundaries were off. He knew he could mow down anything in his path to complete his assignment. He needed to vent after Purgatory.

He saw the flicker of his shields before the kinetic buffer resounded.

_Gunfire._

He didn't dive, or back away; no need to draw weapons. No need to give away his position before he acquired it. He didn't have time for this. The only thing he had were his _orders_.

He turned around, staring at three armored humans - yes, definitely humans – all wearing fancy hardsuits, with yellow insignia of a rather hated group painted proudly across their chests.

_Execute. _

The middle man had his pistol at his thigh. They appeared to be chatting via their private comm link. _Mocking him?_ Convenient. Scilar started to concentrate. The air around his form shimmered, ever so slightly. Snow melted and fumed around his gloves. He blessed his helmet, hiding his eyes.

The human shouted something, but he couldn't distinguish the words with the growing buzzing inside his head. The man's pistol rose from his hip, taking a steady aim at Scilar's head. His yelled again, louder.

"I said, WHO HIRED YOU?"

Scilar's head snapped up, just as his brain registered the slight gesture for a specific biotic attack he honed for years. He loved the expression of his victims in the aftershock. Too bad for those helmets.

_Concentrated molecular warp._

The pistol's trigger clicked, once, but the bullet never made it out; they tend to not work without a mass accelerator. The sidearm rattled as it dissolved into blue fumes in a fraction of a second. The man stared at his empty hand, confused; _confusion is great when it works right._

Scilar was already on top of them. With a sudden rush of adrenaline, he charged across the snow in a dazzling biotic wave as he crashed into the disarmed operative, knocking him back and sending him flying. He balled his fists, crushing the visors of the remaining humans, choking them as the freezing air of Alchera raced through their lungs.

The third died from the impact against the hard ice. Too bad. He might have delivered decent "interrogative entertainment value", as Scilar called it. But he knew Cerberus; they were from the persistent lot. You got too tired from breaking their bones before they began admitting something genuine.

And it _was_ pretty damn cold.

Without as much as a backward look, the turian biotic turned around and headed for his shuttle, knowing he'd have his share of fun soon enough. The faint aura slowly died around him, his footprints crackling as they melted through ice.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**So I was actually told that leaving Author's Note-only chapters is a bad habit, so sorry for that. Won't repeat.**

**Chapter 7's here, and it didn't quite incorporate as much as I had hoped from the Shadow Broker DLC (hence the timely publish), and its also a tad bit short, but I guess everything will pay off in the end. I thickened the plot pretty intensely, and I got some ideas as to how to wrap everything up. Also, behold the new character. I remember researching that turian biotics do exist, they're just extremely rare. Might as well make them overpowered!**

**So that's that. As a side note, I'd appreciate if someone would inform me of the names of the salarian and asari Councilors... can't seem to dig up anything about them. They should have joined in with the quoting, then they'd get famous like Velarn and have fanbases... Actually wait, forget I said anything.**


	8. A Broker Broken

**Chapter contains major spoilers for the initial Mass Effect 2 storyline as well as the Shadow Broker DLC.**

**The Mass Effect universe and all canon characters belong to Bioware.**

* * *

Galrun Vakarian stared at the Cerberus operative, mandibles flared. His temper was a twisting inferno inside him; all the strict emotional training slowly giving way as the turian's bone plates began to twitch. His breathing became heavy as they reached Wilson's shuttle. The human was fully adorned in his Assault armor, with fully charged kinetic barriers and monitoring systems rendering him an uneven foe for the Spectre to face in case his trust was misplaced.

_I Trust. In _him_. What the hell am I doing?_

The single most fertile decision that could be made.

Wilson's helmet depolarized as he nodded at the turian. His cynical demeanor was all but gone as he seemingly doubted his luck every step of the way. Galrun sighed before beginning the revision.

"So, once you get to Cerberus, you lay low for a couple of weeks, then confirm Shepard's status via the encrypted transmission codes I've given you. You'll send updates as hidden Exmails to a Dr. Gavral of the medical facility at the Tayseri, asking for treatment for your would-be-symptoms for-"

"I know the game, Vakarian. You should calm down, seriously."

The human was actually showing concern. Galrun's irritation grew as his headache bolted with renewed force. As much as he hated to admit it, he did need to get some sleep if he was to become a fugitive from the Council. _I still don't know that for one sure..._

"Send me flowers, they'll stink me to reassurance. Wilson."

As the shuttle hatch opened, the human turned to look at the turian moments before reaching for his freedom, and whatever the hell he intended to do with it.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Are you asking me or yourself, Vakarian?"

"Consider."

"Good timing."

Galrun stretched his fingers, causing the talons on each of them to jut out with an audible _click_. He'd heard the act looked similar to a human or a batarian "cracking" their knuckles; for people like Galrun, it was the clearest expression of aggressive intentions between turian family headleaders, but of course the human knew nothing of this. _Just a minor reminder of his facial decorations._

Wilson, however, acted as if he didn't notice, and approached Galrun until his helmeted lump was almost touching his outer chest. He seemed determined to voice himself, his hands balling into fists.

"Okay listen, I don't know what's wrong with your resolve, but you'd better make up your mind _now_ or kill me, right here, yeah. You're not the-the only one who'll get screwed over by his boss, okay? I caused some tension back at Cerberus, and whether they bought our fairy tales or not, they won't just let this go. I might as well have become an expendable resource for them to use before discarding, in the nasty sense. So here's _my_ deal: I _actually_ go and _do_ all those things we agreed on, _without_ setting the Council and the Man on your trail, _if_ you promise you'll extract me along with Shepard when you hit Lazarus."

Two browplates went up as bluish eyes melted through the Cerberus visor with sheer intensity. Galrun was genuinely taken aback that Wilson had decided to strike a deal this late into their "cooperation". But it _was_ Wilson. He'd want the easy way out of his mess.

"Really."

"Really. Or you know, I'd just return to my... _real_ bosses right now, receive a nice, _fat_ paycheck, and apologize for my _accidental_ failure, offering latest newsflash regarding everyone's favorite Mr. Vakarian as a compensation. Maybe even get to see you executed." He spread his hands at the last word.

He was getting bolder now. Galrun understood. He knew how the Illusive Man worked, his ideals regarding sacrifices for the greater good were indented into the core of every little dirty deed of Cerberus. He could just see Wilson being shot in the back after another happy day at the lab. Or another happy day before the lab exploded. _But the point is..._

"And why _would_ you risk your ass to Cerberus, if you admit you can just crawl back in the Council's hide and backstab every other living thing you've encountered?"

"Don't be stupid Vakarian. We all need Shepard. For various reasons and differing beliefs, he needs to be alive. And I don't think they'll figure out where his fingers and toes go without me. _And_ I have been trained a Secrunce. I get my jobs _done_. But I _always_ look for alternatives. So, if you'd rather I actually take the alternative I mentioned..."

"So what happens if I _do_ pick you up? I just dump you to the nearest Citadel cantina where every bouncer and stripper will be an agent in ambush? I decided to help in Shepard's recovery from _Cerberus_. I'm not handing him over to someone just as corrupted, only wearing shinier clothes. They'll stonewall him for months, maybe even arrest him. And I'm not taking you with me to wherever I plan to hide him away, that's for sure. Cut the cr-"

Wilson stood even straighter, almost leveling his oversized helmet with the turian's eyes.

"And how, by _who's_ resources will you get him back up to grid? You'll what, throw him some fancy Spectre gear, and tell him to go blow the Reapers up with a pistol? I _can_ work with the Council on his reinst-"

"Reapers?"

Galrun was surprised as Wilson actually threw his hands in the air at this. What the hell was he talking about?

"Fuck! Goddammit... it's a human met-taphor... look, Vakarian, what I'm trying to tell you is that if you want for both of us, for the _three_ of us to get through this alive, you _must_ let me take the political shit on myself. I can sort this out, and I have some... contacts who can then set him up and back to his feet. A really influential bunch. All I'm asking you is to just _take me with you._ And then to trust me. Because in case you haven't noticed, the depth of shit _I'm_ standing in surpasses yours by a tiny bit!"

His act was well-played, and he almost managed to steer their conversation to matters of trust and doubt. _Ironic_. For the first time since he met the man, Galrun sensed the similarities in their training.

But whatever the hell they taught at Secrunce, it would never slip past the experience of a Spectre gone through years of dealing with scum like him. Patterns of deeper lies had surfaced at Wilson's outburst, something Galrun could exploit.

Galrun grabbed the hatch and forced it close with his bare hands, making Wilson jump at the dull _thump_. The turian leaned casually against his sealed gate to freedom, observing the agitated human with cold interest. It was time for him to get on top of this.

"I _know_ human metaphors."

* * *

The Shadow Broker stared at the dead human Operator, his body riddled with rounds from a heavily modified Avenger assault rifle. The Broker was panting heavily, despite needing but a dismissive flick of his single hand to fire the massive weapon. He wasn't tired, or otherwise physically shaken from the execution; after all, no one but his most valuable employers had the honor to see the Shadow Broker and live to _not_ tell the tale. He was used to... used to _enjoying_ the deaths of all the unworthy creatures. But right now, the Shadow Broker was furious, enraged at the petty human. _He dared._

He dared inform... of all his failures at gathering simple information on his best agent, information the Shadow Broker would have uncovered in seconds, but which was now lost forever because of the idiot's careless fiddling. And then... then he had the guts to stroll over to his office minutes after being summoned, and "come in" with a gentle _knock_? To deliver apologies, after standing shocked for minutes as he took in the Broker's appearance, staring like an imbecile? Where did he think he worked? _Who did he think he worked for?_ He dared mock his authority?

Creatures like him... ignorant, foolish, incompetent vermin, were best off at their final stage of life. He hated every single one of them, and found it harder, day after day, to believe in what he was doing for all of them. He stared at the corpse before him, taking in the bitter truth that was following the Shadow Broker for decades, since the inception of his de facto profession as the galaxy's number one information trader.

_I despise them. All I truly try to achieve is salvation for my own kind._

It was obvious, really; the Collectors, the Reapers... The Broker knew everything about dealings and their consequences, knew well how to deduct the motives and goals of those he dealt with. The mysterious inhabitants of the unmapped area beyond the Omega-4 relay were _lying_. They would _not_ spare everyone else if the Broker helped with the human abductions. They would simply contain the status quo until their operation at the Galactic Core would be completed. so the Shadow Broker complied. He gave them the plague, tried giving them Shepard, knowing he'd only postpone the inevitable... buy worthless time... but every second counted in the Broker's plan to spare his people. Every second until the former Protheans would fulfill their pivotal roles in their masters' return.

And then, the Reapers would come, and nothing would survive. Nothing would matter. Promises, deals, _ideals_... everything, even tiny glimmers of hope would be completely eradicated when the harvesters arrived.

But the Shadow Broker knew. He Always knew. Knew things than no one, even the Reapers themselves, suspected. He knew what they did to the Collectors and who they were before being enslaved. He knew of the cold, logic-driven demeanor of their masters, their unshaken determination to exterminate every space faring civilization in the Galaxy. And, most importantly, he knew _how_ they worked.

From Commander Shepard's revelations, and various other sources, the Broker knew the Reapers were violent, thorough, but also surprisingly compassionate to the lesser races, leaving worlds where life had only begun to spread its seeds untouched. They would operate within the currently activated grid of relays, and discard every undiscovered offline station along with the system it connects to. Either a miscalculation, or a deliberate need to let the primal races develop, only to be harvested later. The Shadow Broker infinitely hoped it was the former.

As his brain processed and mused his problems, his temper began to subside. It was ironic, really; The Shadow Broker was, undoubtedly, one of the most powerful entities in the Galaxy right now. He could trigger wars, manipulate whole governments and eradicate mercenary groups into chaotic anarchy in ten minutes. The temptation was too strong sometimes, but the Broker knew his limits, his goals. _And yet, after all the conquest, the only enemy left untamed is myself..._

He silently went over the brief history of his kind, finding it tainted with their uncontrollable wars and impulsive "politics", drawing a picture of pure disorganization and instinct-driven societies. The krogan would seem civilized and educated next to the cruelsome yagh. _Cruelsome_. Yes, that's exactly how he treated the poor human. The pawn was simply doing his best to preserve a job... pitiful excuse for existence, but nothing to blame for.

Their incredible adaptive capabilities rendered the yahg as immensely potential in terms of intellectual evolution , but their temper was something of a scientific mystery. Even the faintest strain on their nerves, the most petty provocation could turn them into mindless monsters, with their rage completely overriding even their most basic needs and thoughts. The process was physically impossible to control. The Broker wondered if the anomalous "rage mode" would be cured had they went on more peaceful terms with the Council delegations.

_Peace and the yahg. Impossible pairing._

The Shadow Broker successfully calmed himself down, an insurmountable feat for a representative of his species. He began feeling guilt over the murder. He always did, eventually. Sometimes it took hours, more rarely, like this time, he'd deliberately flood his mind with major worries to cloud the anger, and regret his nature minutes after his rifle discharged. At moments like these, he always considered going completely incognito, using his numerous VI avatars on every meeting. But he needed his mind clear, not mentally unstable. He could handle it. For the sake of his people.

Right then, there was nothing he could do. When calm, the Shadow Broker was a practical person. He simply gave the body a powerful kick and sent it sliding across the room, where it hit the far side of the left wall. Good. It would not be in the way of his meeting.

After all, he was expecting an important guest.

* * *

Scilar watched, unmoving, as a fellow agent conversed with his target. A Blue Suns mercenary was common business here on Omega, and his airtight helmet provided an adequate 360 view of his surroundings, allowing him to monitor the exchange without unwanted attention. He watched as the seemingly short goodbye went a bit unplanned as the Spectre slammed the shuttle hatch closed and started questioning the human on his own terms. Scilar shrugged. A slight setback. Secrunce wouldn't make a mistake too crucial. He observed the turian, _longing_ for him to become separated and vulnerable.

He had dug up quite some info on Galrun Vakarian. He was one of the most curious models of a Council Spectre Scilar had encountered – seemed to be a bit unstable on the temper aspect, had his moments of ruthless house cleanings and large-scale arrests, even a family, _once_. But now he was an outcast – _a bareface_ – he had undergone a rare operation to remove his homeworld markings, permanently distancing himself from his family. As disgusting as Scilar found it, the case was peculiar – he'd never recalled Spectres doing anything similar. But why exclude a convenient cover-up to isolate his family from his work? If that was the case, his weak nature was even more pitiful; Scilar wouldn't use that loophole.

So he needed Vakarian alive. He was going to stalk him home. He was going to follow him there, he was going to corner him, immobilize him, and hear him justify his actions against the Council. Against his race. His confessions would eventually cost him his life.

Scilar's sudden anger caused his built-up dark energy to erupt in a minor, but noticeable discharge; a batarian passerby doubled back as he noticed the electrical current wash over the turian's armor.

The Secrunce, however, conveyed all the hatred and revulsion in the world in one simple gesture of tilting his head. The message communicated perfectly, and the batarian chose not to ignore it.

_Get lost._

_

* * *

_

**A/N: for this one I generally tried to nail the Broker's unusual character, along with some hidden motives behind his career (I'm sure they're easy enough to deduct :)). **


End file.
